


They are Waiting on the Shingle - Will you Come and Join the Dance?

by natcat5



Series: Dark Month 2015 [10]
Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Young Avengers
Genre: F/F, Faerie AU, Faerie Courts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4981384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natcat5/pseuds/natcat5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America was never a fan of fairy tales.<br/>She certainly didn't expect to stumble into one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They are Waiting on the Shingle - Will you Come and Join the Dance?

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for general faerie shenanigans. So mortals being enthralled by faerie music and dancing and whatnot. absolutely no dubious consent in regard to sexual content . There is only a single unsolicited cheek kiss. 
> 
> tw: an ableist slur is used uncritically

She’s never been a fan of fairy tales.

She doesn’t hate them or anything, but as a little girl, she found them useless. Stories with predictable ends, with heroes that always prevailed and villains who were evil for the sake of evil and inevitably met a fitting demise. She much preferred real stories, of real people. Stories where the heroes struggled and sometimes failed. Stories where villains weren’t always villains and maybe became something entirely new. Stories where people died but other people lived and all the bravery, the love, and the heroism was _real_ because the danger had been real and the stakes had been real.

She liked being put to bed with the truth, not with some fluff tale about talking birds and magic trees. She was not the type of little girl who wanted to be spirited away into a magical story. Who wanted to be whisked away by a prince or meet a talking horse or be taken under the wings of magical fairies. That had just never been for her.

So she scowls, unimpressed, at the boy dressed in green who is grinning impishly down at her from the branches of a tree, when he tells her that she’s entered into a faerie court.

“ ‘Tis a most wondrous time to have arrived, young lady,” he says, grinning, “The two courts are meeting; truly a rare thing. A mortal such as yourself should count herself lucky to be able to experience this. But take care, if you stay too long, grow to comfortable among the company of the folk who are fair, you may find it difficult to leave.”

“I’m not interested in fairies,” she says flatly, arms folded across her chest. “Just point me towards the exit, and I’ll be out.”

“My dear lady knight, you’ve misunderstood me,” says the grinning child, golden horns glinting in the sunlight, “There is no exit until there is an exit, and the evening’s only just begun. The sun is only just setting, and the festivities have barely started.” And then he laughs, and her skin crawls. A child’s laugh shouldn’t be that unsettling.

“But do you try your luck again when the sun begins to rise,” he continues, eyes dark and green and infinite, “If you still want to leave by then, of course.”

And then he disappears, the green of his clothes fading into the green of the leaves he’s sitting among. Leaving her scowling at the place he used to be, hands balling into fists.

She tries to go back the way she came, tries to retrace her steps. But the path she trod along is gone, and any way she tries to go that isn’t forward is barred with thorns she can’t get through. She tries, damned hard too. She pushes forward despite the thorns digging into her skin, ripping through her jacket and clothes and pulling her hair. She tries to push through the walls and brambles that spring up, but it’s impossible. And impossible isn’t a word that’s generally in her vocabulary.

So she turns, face like a storm, and begins walking forward. Reasoning that fairies don’t exist, what’s up ahead is probably a renaissance theme college party, and that she really doesn’t want to still be in these kooky woods past sundown.

She walks forwards for a few minutes, the only sound that of her feet crunching the twigs strewn about the ground. Her legs are stinging, covered in welts and cuts from the thorns, and there’s a chilly wind nipping at them. The branches of the trees seem to be clustered more tightly together, blocking what dim light remains in the sky. She shivers, pulling her jacket tighter.

“Methinks you’re ill-prepared for this court little child of man. Do ye search instead for its counterpart, across the way, where the light does nae fade?”

America jumps, swearing as she notices a man sitting on a nearby log. He didn’t- it would be ridiculous to say that he appeared out of nowhere. But she didn’t, she certainly didn’t notice him. Didn’t see him at all. Despite the fact that he’s dressed in a bright purple outfit from head to toe. Despite the fact that he’s got a huge, pointed mask covering his face, and that bright blue and black feathers decorate his shoulders and the upper part of his arms.

“Who in the _fuck_ are you?” she snarls, hands in fists at her side again.

The man doesn’t seem affected by the pure venom in her tone, and merely rubs a gloved hand along the stubbly skin of his face.

“Well, there’s a question,” he muses, “Who is anyone? Whether in the fuck or not? I’ve been a few things, sometimes a shadow, sometimes a ghost. Usually a hawk, especially when in the fuck.”

America fights the urge to facepalm. Somehow, he’s worse then the one in green.

“But as of right now, I am none of those things,” he continues, straightening a little. “Little child of man, are you aware that you stand at the gates of the grandest court of the Fae? Do you feel the biting winds, touching all and bringing all to its fold? Is it your intention to attend the party of the Winter Court, though you are dressed for its warm, weak counterpart?”

America curls her lip at the man, squaring her shoulders a little, and trying not to look as cold as she feels.

“I’m just moving forward until I get out of this damn forest,” she snaps, “I don’t care what’s up ahead, if it’s between me and the exit.”

The man smiles a little, crookedly. “I like that kind of pig-headed stubbornness. Reminds me of myself, when I was still of Summer. You’ll find some in the Winter Court appreciate such things.” His expression tightens a little, and the smile fades. “But not many. Guard yourself young one. Trust no one’s words, take no drink, and taste no food.”

“I can take care of myself,” America says firmly, and the man’s smile returns.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” he says, grinning, “Enjoy the court, little Lady Knight.”

America glares at him, keeping her eyes on him as she walks past. He stares back at her, still grinning unsettlingly.

The woods grow colder as she continues forward, and the winds harsher. Her jacket is doing nothing to keep her warm, and her legs are freezing, bare as they are. But she can’t head back now. She’s walked too far, and she doesn’t want to give that man, or the green, grinning child, the satisfaction. Besides, these woods, just behind her university, can’t be _that_ large. She’ll come to a path or a road or _something_ soon.

America hears voices, up ahead, and slows down a little. It may be signs of civilization, or may be more people like the green child or the sometimes-hawk man. She moves forward cautiously, frowning.

A man and a woman are standing in the forest up ahead. The woman, with bright red hair and a black dress draped over her. It hangs like mesh or netting over her arms and back, and a matching square of mesh, patterned like a spider’s web, hangs over her face. The man is well-built, with brown hair curling about his ears. He is dressed in a long black tunic, with bright red sleeves and splashes of blue spattered haphazardly about. Looking more like spilt paint then an actual design.

Both of them turn to look at her as she approaches, gazes cold as the winter winds, and America hardens her expression, dropping her arms to her sides. She refuses to look as freezing and lost as she feels.

“A cold, lost child,” says the woman, as if reading her mind, “Off the path of man and into a realm she does not know. And still, she heads for our halls, as if pulled there. Out of place though you are, is it your wish to attend the party?”

“To have made it here, she must have passed your doorman,” says the man, giving the woman a look, “Is he looking to pay someone a tithe, or merely seeks to annoy us?”

The woman smiles, a secretive thing, and the man turns his cold, flat eyes back to America. Their twin gazes on her make America’s stomach twist. These two are not like the child and the man in purple. Those two had unsettled her, had made her uncomfortable. But these two, they…

She’d never admit to anything scaring her. But if she _was_ prone to admitting something like that, well…These two might make the list.

But she squares her shoulders anyways. Forces her chin up, refuses to drop her gaze to the ground.

“I’m just looking to move forward, get out of these trees,” America says forcefully, “If there’s a party or whatever up ahead, I’m not planning to hang around. Just move through it so I can leave.”

“So you can leave?” repeats the man, eyebrow raised.

“So she can _leave._ ” Purrs the woman, something like laughter on her tongue.

America stiffens, and looks to see if there’s a way to move around them, to get past. But it’s like the trees have moved closer, corralled her in with them.

“Well, I’ll have words with the doorman later,” says the woman, a smirk still on her lips, “But you’ve come this far, so though we are guards and gatekeepers, we’ll not bar you entry. Who are we, to deny someone looking to join our festivities?”

“Whether you plan to hang around or not, you’ll join the dance,” says the man, eyes smouldering, “Your feet will carry you, they will not care to stand still. Enjoy it. To fight it is futile.”

America wants to give them a sharp retort, wants to tell them to can it, to shut up. To leave her alone. But her tongue is suddenly frozen in her mouth, and her stomach is leaden with a feeling she can no longer deny; fear.

But the man and the woman have moved aside now, one to the left and one to the right, giving her a pathway directly between them. Both of their eyes are on her, the woman’s darkly amused, the man’s quiet and observant.

She walks through them, and keeps her gaze ahead, trying to calm her body’s trembling.

The cold and the winds are still strong, and the trees are still tall and foreboding, but America walks on, shoulders hunched against the wind. She can hear music, up ahead, and the darkness of the forest is cut by twinkling lights, above and in front of her. The air is ringing with laughter, giggles and cackles, and her heart is thundering in her chest.

She fights through a particularly tight cluster of trees, brushing aside branches and wincing as the barren limbs catch her across the face. When she’s managed to push them all aside, she finds herself facing an empty clearing. A large area devoid of trees, with the grass trodden flat and no flowers.

She steps forwards.

The second her foot steps down into the clearing, she feels it. She feels everything _shift._ Everything shift and change and come _alive._

Colour explodes in front of her vision, and where there was nothing there is now _everything._ The clearing is full, of people, of lights, of music and laughter. Tables covered in drinks and food, snowflakes fluttering through the air. And dance, an endless dance that the patrons of the clearing all move about in ceaselessly.

America stands, staring in awe.

“Are you without a partner, my lady?”

She barely stifles a shriek as she jumps and turns, startled by a voice at her side.

Beside her is a young woman, dressed in green, black, and gold, the horns atop her head similar to those worn by the child from before, but with one snapped off. Her hair is dark and ragged, and her eyes shadowed. She smiles, or smirks rather, and America immediately molds her surprised expression into a scowl.

“I’m not looking for one, actually,” she says snappishly, “I’m just passing through.”

“Nay, say it isn’t so!” says the lady in green, eyes widening dramatically, “With such fine specimens available, just waiting for the hand of a brave lady knight such as yourself?” She tilts her head, her teeth bared in something that barely constitutes a smile, “Pray, will you not observe the crowd, and find a suitable partner within it? There is no need to deny yourself a dance, not on a night such as this.”

America finds her head turning despite herself, finds her eyes looking upon the gathered crowd, still turning and weaving in their endless dance.

“Look forward, and cast your eyes there,” says the woman in green, pointing with one black-nailed finger, “The brave and serious lady-spider, older and more practiced then her Summer Court counterparts. A more diligent, more clever, and more experienced partner will be hard to find.”

America narrows her eyes at the dark-haired woman dressed in red and white, with hints of yellow. Her eyes are judgemental, and serious, as advertised. But she is very beautiful, even if she is a bit older.

_Wait, why am I even considering this?!_ She thinks, shaking her head and tearing her eyes away. “Like I said, I’m not looking-,”

“And there!” interrupts the woman in green, as if not having heard her, “Another woman who takes no nonsense, but a bit more fun, I think.” She points to a woman with cascading green hair, dressed in a revealing corset and a chainmail skirt that leaves miles of legs uncovered. Her lips are pursed, and her gaze is sharp.

“There is wildness in that one’s family, spread between the courts of Winter and Summer alike,” says the woman at America’s side, sounding gleeful. “She is full of surprises. A dance with her would certainly be fun. Her personality is very…magnetic.”

She cackles then, at some internal joke, and America exhales heavily, hands on her hips. “Seriously, I don’t care how interesting she sounds. I’m not-,”

“And there!” interrupts the woman, pointing again, “See that group? A younger crowd, certainly. But still ripe with experience. And warriors, all. Methinks the lady knight would do well amongst the sorceress and beast enchantress.”

America can’t stop herself from looking, following the woman’s finger to a group of people her own age, clustered tightly together and dancing in interlocking circles. There are two girls, one dark haired and Asian, dressed in layers of red and black cloth, with checkered stockings and a staff in her hand. The other is shorter, heavier, with purple hair and a mask over her eyes. At her side is a large…dinosaur? They’re both laughing, twirling with the boys in their circle. Red and blue sparks shooting up into the air where their hands meet, where their feet touch the ground.

“I don’t think they’re my type,” America says, and is she actually feeling regretful? No. She can’t be. She’s not actually _looking_ for a partner.

And, wait. How does this woman in green know only to recommend girls to her? She hasn’t said anything-

“To think, a mortal with such a demanding eye,” grins the woman, eyes sparkling, “I could offer to you the Queen of Frost herself, and still, you would turn away? Ah, but perhaps it is merely the Winter in us that dissuades you. Perhaps you do not wish to dance with any of the ice and the cold. But worry not, lady knight,”

The green woman makes a sweeping gesture with one arm, towards an area of the clearing that has been emptied of dancers, leaving a space open in front of a pathway that’s coming in from the forest.

“The night is truly begun now,” she says, her voice reverent, “Hear the eagles calling? The Captain announces that the Summer King is on his way. And with it, his court.” She turns to America, a teasing smirk on her face. “Perhaps the picky lady knight will find someone more to her liking amongst the sun and the flowers. A pity; valour and pluck such as yours does not go unrewarded in the deepest thralls of winter snow.”

Then she leans up and gives America a quick peck on the cheek, before turning and sweeping away with a flourish of her green cloak, leaving America blinking and embarrassed in her wake. Her cheeks burn, and she feels the familiar sensation of her hands curling into fists at her side. She feels flustered, and she hates feeling flustered. And she certainly doesn’t appreciate unsolicited cheek kisses. If she sees that woman again…

Then she hears the eagles.

One call, then two, then three. Echoing through the air and piercing through the music of the dance. America turns towards the sound, and freezes, her breath catching in her chest.

Light is streaming from the entrance to the forest in the corner of the clearing that’s been emptied. Flower petals blow outwards, mingling with the snow in the air. The frosty temperature rises a bit, warmth radiating outwards and a smell like a beach in July coming forward on the breeze.

Then they appear.

A man within a golden chariot, pulled forth by automaton horses. On his face is a mask of gold and red, matching a gleaming circlet in the center of his chest. Both shining in the light that illuminates him. He’s surrounded by a full host of people. Men, women, and all those neither and both. Dressed in bright, summery colours. Laughing and calling out to one another, cartwheels and circles in the grass. Flowers spring up where their feet land, roots and vines exploding outwards from the earth to form a canopy above their party.

“Show offs,” mutters a blue-skinned woman nearby, and America hears similar murmurs throughout the Winter crowd. Rolled eyes and scoffing. A less then enthused reaction to the entrance of the Summer Court.

But there are a few scattered about who react positively. Smiles, running forward to greet the new arrivals. The green-haired woman pointed out to her before, as well as a silver-haired man dressed in blue, move forward to greet a group from the Summer Court; a dark haired woman dressed in red with twin boys at her side. Three teenagers flip through the air in a series of complicated acrobatics, raising appreciative noises from the entire crowd. Two girls, one blonde and in white, and one dark haired and Asian, in black, with a young man between them, in red and blue. They land in front of the woman dressed in red, white and yellow from earlier, who claps low and sarcastically, smirking.

There are others. A green-skinned woman from the Summer Court embraces a green-skinned man from the Winter one. A man with flowing blonde hair and no clothing to speak of embraces a blue-skinned man dressed in green, wearing the same horns as the woman and child from earlier. The guards, the chilly man and woman from before, greet and embrace a golden-haired man who seems to, literally, be radiating light, and has eagles circling his head like a halo. A dark skinned man with two dark red wings extending behind him joins their embrace.

America feels a bit lost, watching people reunite, watching two clearly defined communities come together and intermingle. She wants, very badly, to continue searching for the exit, but there’s absolutely no way that she’ll get anywhere with the crowd the way it is. And she has a sneaking suspicion that if she heads back into the forest, she’ll just end up circling back towards this clearing anyways.

In time the greetings end, and the party starts up again. The golden chariot disappears in a flash, the horses going with it, and the clearing reassembles into a dance hall. The groups go from separate but mingling, into one cohesive mass. Partners and triads and quintuplets form. Dancing circles begin turning in rings, drinks are poured and shared, and a few individuals take their dance to the sky, twirling in the air. America finds herself a little mesmerized, watching them.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

America turns, less suddenly this time, and finds herself in the company of a young woman with long dark hair, and clever, sharp eyes. She’s dressed in purple, like the man from earlier, and like the man from earlier, she has feathers protruding from her back and upper arms. But unlike him, her feathers are light blue and grey. They also adorn the corners of her eyelids, and sprout in the area just above her chest.

“Only if those thoughts are about exits,” America says, mouth twisting, “I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not part of this, but I don’t know how to leave.”

An admission of weakness she wouldn’t normally allow. But she’s not getting out of here on her own, that much is clear.

The woman tilts her head a little, and her smile isn’t unkind, but it isn’t exactly warm either.

“Everyone who is here is supposed to be here,” she says, “And you are _far_ too serious. Exits? I know not of such things. For I am not looking to leave. But come,”

She extends one hand, purple gloved, “Dally not at the edge of the crowd. Perhaps there is someone within the dance who knows how to find the ‘exit’ you seek. No one will approach you if you stand so dourly and alone. You must step forward if you wish to find results!”

America stares at the hand outstretched to her. She feels…uneasy. She feels uneasy about going towards those people. Those colours. Those lights. The laughter and the mix of warmth and cold in the air.

She turns and looks, at the spinning crowd, happy and drunk with the party atmosphere. At the swirl of skirts and tunics, feathers and silk, oddly coloured skin and bright, glowing hair. It’s beautiful. It’s all very beautiful.

She turns back to the woman in front of her.

“Alright,” she says cautiously, putting her hand on hers, “But just to talk to people.”

The smile she gets in response is near to blinding.

The woman in purple explains that she goes by ‘The Hawk of Summer’, or just ‘The Hawk’. Her mentor used to go by ‘The Hawk of Winter’, but nowadays mostly responds to ‘Hey You’.

She leads America through the crowd, introducing her to the courtiers of Summer and Winter alike. This is the Lord of the Ants, and his daughter, a dear friend. This is the successor of the Captain of Stars, great taste in music, debatable taste in girls. This is another mentor, The Mockingbird, who moves between the Courts of Summer and Winter as if the divisions mean nothing. This is a favourite of the Eagle Captain, another dear friend. This is a son of the Winter Court shapechangers, engaged to the son of the Summer Court’s Red Witch, and also a dear friend.

America nods, smiles awkwardly, takes hands, returns bows and curtsies.

Dances.

It’s Mockingbird, first. She doesn’t wait to ask, wait even to answer America’s question about an exit. Just takes her by the hand and whirls her around, smirking behind the large black mask on her face.

America wants to be annoyed, wants to yank her hand away, but she’s too entranced by the swirl of the woman’s white and black skirts, and by the way the lights look in the air as she’s twirled. It’s all beautiful.

Then the favourite of the Eagle Captain, a young man with a solemn expression and dark skin. The Hawk is friendly with him, and they all join hands together, forming one of those dance circles. America finds herself laughing. He and The Hawk bicker in a way that denotes their closeness. It’s cute.

Then the shapechanger, whose preferred shape is blonde and blue eyed with green skin. He has a nervous smile, but sweeps The Hawk up into his arms like she weighs nothing, twirling her laughing form around. America lets him lead her in a short, generic two-step of a dance, and it’s fun because it’s so adorable, and he’s so sweet.

Then his fiancé appears, accompanied by his white-haired twin, and they form another circle. They hold hands and spin and twirl, their laughter rings out in the air, and America finds herself dazzled with it, going round and round.

When the boys depart, she finds herself taking The Hawk’s hand again. This time not to follow her into the crowd, but to be led by her in a dance. She lets the feathered woman lace their fingers together and place one hand on her waist. Lets her move their bodies together in time with the rhythmic, intoxicating music. Lets her twirl and dip her. Falls into the sway and easy grace of her hips, of the way they turn together, in endless circles, and an endless dance.

“Sorry, sorry. Mind ye terribly if I cut in a moment?”

America blinks, feeling startled and out of place as her feet stop moving, as they still on the ground. Across from her, The Hawk turns, eyebrows raised.

Beside them is the woman in green from earlier, with the ragged black hair and golden horns. She smiles at them, extending one hand towards America with a questioning look.

“Hm, I suppose we have been together awhile,” says the Hawk, turning towards America with a bright expression, “We’ll switch partners for a bit. But come find me later, alright?”

America finds herself nodding as The Hawk pulls away, still smiling, fingers dragging along the underside of America’s wrist, before she’s gone, swept away by the crowd.

“Lovely girl, don’t know where she got it from. Her mentors are all lunatics,” comments the woman in green idly, before turning to America with a smile. “Now then, shall we dance, lady knight? Has the gaiety of the night loosened your standards a bit, so that I may now be worthy of your favour?”

America stares at the woman for a moment, frowning. She wants to say no. She knows that she turned down this woman before, so she should turn her down again, but…she doesn’t remember…why.

She doesn’t remember why, and she _wants_ to dance. She wants to be swept up once again in the circles, in the weaving and twirling bodies, in the lights and the laughter.

So she takes the woman’s hand, and lets herself be pulled away.

Her movements are more controlled, more precise and practiced than the others were. The woman in green does not twirl about idly. Everything is with a purpose, meticulous, and while America misses the wild gaiety of earlier, she finds the rhythmic rocking and swaying to be soothing. It…her head feels less like it’s in a blur, a fog. It’s easier to think, like this.

“My dear lady knight, did you enjoy your dance?” asks the woman, eyes so green they’re almost glowing, “It _is_ a fine thing, no doubt. Both Courts together, in peace and merriment. What mortal could resist the thrall exuded by such an intoxicating atmosphere?”

The music is fainter, somehow. They’ve moved away from the thick of the crowd, and are instead on the edge of it, in a far corner of the clearing close to the trees.

“We do dislike when mortals don’t enjoy themselves,” she murmurs, lips barely moving, “And so we ask you to dance, and prevent you from departing until you’ve done so. But now you have. You have felt the joy, and the laughter, and danced and danced and danced again. And so lady knight, I must ask you,”

She leans forward, arms moving from America’s waist to hang around her neck, face pensive. “Do you still seek an exit?”

America freezes.

An…an exit?

A…way out?

To…to leave?

To _leave._

It all hits her at once. Like a damn battering ram. That she’s…she’s _lost._ She’s not supposed to be here. She was just walking through the woods behind her university, trying to get a shortcut back to her dorm, and instead she had…

She had stumbled on something wondrous, and beautiful. Amazing people and music and dance and The Hawk’s hands and smile and the laughter of all her friends and The Mockingbird grinning from behind her mask and the green green eyes of the woman across from her.

To find an exit would be to leave it. Forever.

“Ah, I see,” says the woman understandingly, reading an answer in the silence, “You do not wish to go. Of course not. Who would willingly leave the Fae Court? In that case, if you are indeed staying, allow me to introduce myself.”

She smiles wide, “I am the Lady of Stories, the Goddess of them, some might say. The Lady Storykeeper, colloquially.” Her smile turns a little furtive, eyes a little sly. “And you?”

She opens her mouth to answer the Goddess, to reply, and finds she can’t. Finds she…she doesn’t have an answer.

Her name.

What…what is her name?

“I,” she stammers, breathing quickening in her chest, “I, I don’t-,”

“You’ve forgotten it,” says the Lady Storykeeper empathetically, “Yes, well, that tends to happen. You won’t need it, if you stay here. You can leave it all behind. All of it.”

Her eyes blaze a little, and she seems to swell, to exude a greater shape and presence. “If you stay here, you will leave your mortal story behind you. Your name, your family, your life, all that you once loved. It will be lost to you forever, and there will be nothing anyone can do to retrieve it. That is the cost of staying here. That is the cost of this endless dance. Is it your wish to pay it?”

She stares at the Goddess, trying to quell the wordless panic brewing within her.

She still remembers. Everything but her name is still there. But it’s patchy, and she can feel parts slipping away. Her Mothers’ birthdays, the taste of her favourite ice cream, what the essay she was writing was on. Little details.

And her name.

Her name is gone.

She remembers now, where she is. A Faerie Court. Not a place of fairy tales, not a place where little girls dream to get swept off their feet. But a place to be trapped, to be ensnared, to be lost forever.

She remembers the smile of the Hawk, the warmth of her friends, the happiness.

She doesn’t think it was fake. But it wasn’t for her either. It can’t be for her. It’s not where she’s supposed to be.

“The exit,” she says quietly, trying to ignore the way her body is trembling. “Please.”

The Lady Storykeeper smiles then, and it’s a little less sly, and a little more proud as she lowers her arms and steps back.

“Right here, my lady knight,” she says, gesturing to her right.

Her mortal partner frowns, turning her head and…

It’s a path.

Not just any path, but the path she was looking for in the first place. The old hiking trail, marked with a rickety wooden sign.

“But-,” she turns her head behind her, and sucks in a breath.

The dance is gone. The people are gone. The Courts are gone. All that remains is an empty forest, littered with cigarettes and empty beer cans left by the students of the university. Just like normal. Just like it’s supposed to be.

America- and her name has returned to her, she can remember it now, turns back to where the Lady Storyteller was standing, and finds the space empty. The woman, like the Courts, is gone.

America takes a deep, shuddering breath. She feels uneasy and unnerved and embarrassed. She feels feverish and off her feet. She feels like she’s just stepped out of a vivid, unbelievable dream.

Slowly, she begins moving forward, allowing her legs to carry her to the path, and back towards her life.

She’s only ever enjoyed stories that were _real._ She always dismissed and disliked fairy tales for that reason.

But this…is one Faerie Tale she’s not likely to forget.   

**Author's Note:**

> So many cameos! Non-speaking characters who appeared include (in order):  
> Spider-woman/Jessica Drew  
> Lorna Dane/Polaris  
> The Runaways -with specific mention to Nico and Gert (Karolina and Xavin are part of the Summer Court so weren't there)  
> Iron Man/Tony Stark  
> Mystique (technically she spoke but it didn't really count)  
> Maximoff family. Lorna and Pietro are from the Winter Court, Wanda, Billy and Tommy are from the Summer Court.  
> Spider-Gwen, Cindy Moon/Silk, and Peter Parker/Spiderman  
> Jennifer Walters/ She-Hulk  
> Bruce Banner/Hulk  
> Thor  
> MCU!Loki  
> Captain America/Steve Rogers  
> Sam Wilson/Falcon  
> Ant-Man/Scott Lang  
> Stature/Cassie Lang  
> Noh-Varr/Marvel Boy  
> Mockingbird/Bobbi Morse  
> Eli Bradley/Patriot  
> Teddy Altman/Hulkling


End file.
